


Giving Chase

by theSapphireSky



Series: The Detective and the Pathologist [26]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ...maybe just a tad bit cheesy, F/M, Runaway Bride, i promise it's not as cheesy as it sounds!, my favourite trope, well one of them anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8608171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: On her wedding day, Molly finds she can't go through with marrying the love of her life when he doesn't love her back. Can the groom find her in time to convince her she's wrong?





	

'Molly!'

Holding her voluminous skirts up, Molly ignored the desperate shout behind her and pressed on. Her bare feet slapped the pavement and she ignored the blatant stares of passerby gawking at the teary, muddied bride running down the London street.

A black car screeched to a stop at the corner in front of her.

Molly gasped and stumbled to a halt. The back window rolled down and revealed the face of a stoic Mycroft.

'Miss Hooper, please get in. I believe there has been a misunder-'

His words were drowned out by a woman's angry shout behind her.

Wide eyed and confused, Molly looked back over her shoulder. People were being shoved left and right as Sherlock bounded after her, his morning suit disheveled and the bowtie undone.

She looked back at Mycroft.

Her face must have given her away her intentions. The sound of his door opening coincided with the swish of her skirts as she turned and bolted away from both brothers. Mycroft's curse rang in her ears as she darted through the crowd.

Where she was going, she didn't know. But she knew she had to get away.

She couldn't, she _wouldn't_ , marry a man who didn't love her.

She wouldn't marry Sherlock Holmes.

oOo

**Three Months Previously**

Sherlock burst into the lab with his usual aplomb. 'Molly, I require your hand.'

Wrinkling her nose as she peered through the microscope, Molly put her experimental thoughts on hold and mentally ran through their inventory.

'I can give you a left hand of a 44-year-old man. But we're a bit short on appendages this week.'

When he didn't acknowledge her offering, she looked over at the door and drew back in surprise to find him looming over her.

'I require _your_ hand,' he clarified with a distinct sigh of frustration.

Molly looked at her hand then back at him and smiled cheekily. 'Sorry, Sherlock. But I'm not quite done with it yet.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Don't make jokes, Molly.'

Hurt flashed through her and her smile dropped.

'No, no, wait,' Sherlock sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 'I just meant right now, don't make jokes now. Not when I'm trying to be serious and propose.'

Instantly, Molly froze.

'I-I-I'm sorry,' she forced a laugh. 'I thought you just said-'

'Propose. Yes.' It wasn't until he held an open velvet box under her nose, a beautiful diamond ring, classy and simply, just what she'd always imagined adorning the finger of her left hand, that it sunk in.

What followed was nearly two hours of back and forth between a dubious Molly and an exasperated Sherlock. Eventually, worn down from all his logical reasons, Molly accepted his suit.

But it was with a heavy heart that she slipped the ring on her own finger as Sherlock left in his usual abrupt fashion.

She loved Sherlock. He… cared for her.

That was all that she needed.

Right?

oOo

**Present Day**

It was only by a stroke of luck… or divine intervention… that Molly was able to lose her tails. She'd ducked into a shop and the Holmes brothers, expecting her to dart out the back, had passed her hiding spot behind the counter of the friendly old woman. While they scrambled to deduce where she'd gone, Molly had rushed out the way she'd come and slipped away in a passing cab.

The sweet, older cabbie had taken one look at his passenger, her torn and dirtied wedding gown and tear-stained cheeks, and quietly turned off the meter.

'Need to be alone for a bit, love?'

Molly sniffed and wiped her face. 'Know a place? Somewhere even the British government couldn't find me?'

His wrinkled brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled. 'I know just the place.'

oOo

It took him three hours to track her down.

Three hours of mind-numbing panic and heartache.

He had finally accepted love as a strength and he wasn't about to let it slip away because of his own stupid mistake. The only person that made pursuing what he once considered a weakness worthwhile was hurting and it was his fault.

A cabbie, one of his network, had texted him hours after he'd dropped the runaway bride off. In addition to the address of an old estate on the edge of London, the old man had added a stern admonition.

You don't deserve her, Mr Holmes. But she loves you fiercely and deserves to be loved as fiercely in return. Cherish her.

Sherlock's hands were shaking and his heart pounding as he walked down the garden path. Little solar lights lit the cobblestone pathway leading him toward the willow tree by a small lake. The moonlight shimmered across the water and he could make out Molly's silhouetted profile in between the hanging branches, sitting on the bench swing. Her elegant updo had come undone and her hair hung in loose curls down her back. The dress, the beautiful lace dress that hugged all her perfectly proportional curves in all the right places, brushed the ground in a gentle whisper as she swayed back and forth.

He accidentally kicked a few stones and she turned toward the sound.

The tear tracks on her face punched him in the gut. She didn't seem surprised to seem him. Just overwhelmingly sad.

He had to fix this.

Closing the distance between them, he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

'Sherlock, please, just go-' She couldn't finish as a tired sob bubbled out and a fresh wave of tears coursed down her cheeks.

'Molly, there is something I need to say. Before you write me off, will you let me explain?' He waited for her nod, albeit reluctantly, before he continued. 'I went about this completely the wrong way. I let my mind speak for my heart and I neglected to tell you the most important reason why we should marry.'

He let go of her right hand and reached up to thumb away the tears from her cheek. Her eyes watched him warily, hopefully.

'I foolishly thought all the logical reasons would be enough to convince you of my desire to marry you. But they weren't. Nor should they be.' He took a deep breath. 'I want to marry you because you are the love of my life, Molly Hooper. I love you. So utterly and completely that before I realised it, you had stolen my heart from me.'

He reached into the inner pocket of his morning suit and pulled out three rings. Their wedding bands and her engagement ring. He held out the diamond and looked at her with all the love and adoration he felt. 'Will you accept me as your husband? Allow me to love you, protect you, share a life with you? Have beautiful, brown-eyed brilliant Consulting Pathologists with you?'

oOo

What?

_What?_

Molly gaped down at the love of her life, on bended knee, asking her in the most romantic way to marry him, to build a family and a life with him. She searched for any sign of deception, but couldn't find any. Just love.

_Yes._

_Say yes!_

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time of happiness, and she nodded her head. She could only keep nodding as Sherlock beamed and slid the ring on her finger.

He stood and pulled her to her feet. Her arms slid around his waist and she tilted her head back to look up at him. 'I love you, too. But you already knew that, didn't you.'

'I did. But it is reassuring to hear.' Sherlock smiled. He took a moment to wipe away the remnants of her tears and admire the beauty of her smile before bending down to brush his lips against hers. Pulling back, their breaths mingling, he whispered once more, 'I love you.'

Molly closed her eyes and smiled. 'I'll never tire of hearing that.'

Sherlock pulled her closer and rested his forehead against hers.

'And I'll never tire of saying it.'


End file.
